


When The Heart No Longer Beats

by eatafuckingbullet



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Divorce, Dunmer - Freeform, Injury, M/M, Miscarriage, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Divorce, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 00:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20536979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatafuckingbullet/pseuds/eatafuckingbullet
Summary: Mirren and Vilkas have always been intertwined, ever since the day the mer had showed up in the doorframe of Kodlak Whitemane. Only divine intervention could possibly tear them apart. This is a slight abbreviation of their story.Basically- this has been on my phone for a LONG time and I finally got courage to post it.





	When The Heart No Longer Beats

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! For some context:
> 
> 1) Mirren was married to Lydia, but because Mirren wasn't well liked at the time a couple of hired thugs came and hurt her- resulting in a miscarriage of their child.
> 
> 2) Lydia dies on Solsthiem.
> 
> 3) This takes place over three years. I like the idea that the Dovahkiin has to WORK FOR IT.

The night it happens the wheater is clear.  
  
No storms or piercing booms of thunder punctuate their words as they scream at eachother. His wife stares at him in the eyes, resentment and pain in her own.  
  
"Where were you last night?"  
  
Mirren stands in the doorway, weariness settling in his bones as he begins to wind down from the long travel back from The Rift. He closes the door and moves over to lean on the table in the far corner of the room.  
"In Riften, I needed sleep after the job I ran. I was exhausted so just rented a room for the night."  
  
Lydia picks up a tankard and sips it, scowling at the floor. It's almost on reflex that Mirren opens his mouth to ask what she's drinking. A habit he had picked up over four months.  
  
"What?" Lyida asks  
  
Mirren shakes his head, "It's nothing." He says quietly.  
  
These types of encounters have been happening too frequently lately. Their marriage is hanging on by a weak thread.  
Suddenly dread fills Mirren from his feet to his head, and he ducks just in time as Lydia whirls a tankard at him.  
  
"You were drinking again? Weren't you?" She seethes at him, lips drawn back in a feral snarl.  
  
Mirren feels more guilt than fear. He's never been good at hiding his emotions on his face.  
  
"I knew it." Lydia says, and she sounds so disappointed in him. He is not a heavy drinker, he doesn't go out every night for cups of mead to drown into.  
Mirren always had a way with words. But what can he say to a wife who is too much of a warrior to be a mother? What does he say to the woman who carried their now dead, unborn child?  
  
Mirren merely just stares at her from across the room, able to smell all the anxious heartbeats in the room.  
  
His dogs whine, unhappy with the stormy mood.  
  
They argue as calmly as they can for about three minutes.  
  
Then suddenly, as if someone poked her with a flaming rod she gets up and turns on him.  
"You're such a fucking disappointment! I supposed that's what I get for marrying a fucking dark elf!"  
  
Shock blooms on both of their faces at the cold statement. Mirren feels as if he's been stabbed.  
  
Then the hurt dawns on him. He's always been so fragile about what he is to people. He hunted for years in Skyrim, never once stumbling along the major cities, and never once running into a patch of trouble that he couldn't get out of.  
  
Mirren grits his teeth and meets her gaze.  
"Give me the ring." He murmurs.  
  
"No, Mirren, please I'm sorry-"  
  
"Give me the ring." Mirren says, harder this time.  
  
She hands it to him, hands shaking, and he leaves.  
  
-  
  
They're talking in Vilkas' quarters since Mirren doesn't have his own. They haven't offered Skjor's up, Mirren thinks it's because the pain is still too fresh in their hearts. He didn't know Skjor well enough to weep for him, but he still misses seeing the other Circle member around.  
"The Silver Hand took him from us." Vilkas says, his voice dripping with anger and sorrow.  
  
"I know." Mirren says, quietly, resisting the urge to brush his hand over his mohawk. He does that when he's uncomfortable.  
  
"I know this sounds _silly _but-"  
  
Mirren gives Vilkas a questioning glance.  
They haven't spoken since Mirren's ceremony. He and Vilkas haven't always been the best of friends.  
  
"But you're one of the only whelps I trust. Not that you're a whelp anymore."  
  
Mirren understands, he's the fastest to rise through the ranks. However the question why lingers in the back of his mind. He can feel the beast stirring within himself out of curiosity, can smell Vilkas' beast responding to it. Vilkas sighs and stares at Mirren, his blue eyes are holding exhaustion and worry.  
  
"I don't trust anyone else."  
  
"Except me."  
  
"Except you." Vilkas confirms.  
  
"Vilkas."  
Mirren stares at him, and makes for the door.  
"We'll avenge Skjor, you can trust me on that." He says, and leaves.  
  
•  
  
Vilkas has never laid a hand on him. Not even during their worst arguments. His words would always hurt more anyways, even Mirren who has withstood ice spikes and swords has never been so thoroughly gutted like this before.  
  
"Have you ever protected anything you've loved before?" Vilkas had asked him, with that terrible placidness. "Are you even capable of that?"  
  
He had apologized later of course, when Mirren had stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, not being able to say anything decent. He could hear Lydia mocking him in the corner of his mind- _you're already a fucking disappointment just own up to it already- _and the feeling of Vilkas' sword colliding with his when they first met, he could pinpoint exactly when Vilkas had figured out he'd struck the one point Mirren had never been able to crystallize.  
  
"I... I do trust you." Vilkas says quietly, later, searching Mirren's face as if he's unsure. "I'm sorry I didn't.. realize it sooner."  
  
It's almost stupid how easy it is to pull away, "Sure." Mirren says. Then he adds --he's still hurting from the divorce-- it's almost an afterthought, "It's okay that you don't care about me, or about what I think."  
  
The silence is somehow loud enough. Vilkas is quiet for so long that Mirren's face burns. He turns on his heel, making a break for the door, feeling as if a boulder is pressing into his chest, that it keeps getting heavier and heavier until he can't breathe. He makes it about two steps before he's grabbed at the wrist.  
  
Vilkas' eyes are ice blue, and even though they're virtually the same height- Mirren feels like he's being towered over.  
  
"Let me go." Mirren snaps.  
  
"Mirren."  
  
"Let me go," he says, harder this time, "I don't want to listen to your lies, Vilkas." His grip doesn't give. "Vilkas I swear to the gods, let me _go."_  
  
"I do." Vilkas says. It's sudden, a bad confession. His face scrunches like he just had sour mead, his lips are so thin they're practically nonexistent. His eyes soften, briefly, but enough that Mirren can still see it.  
  
His thumb grazes over Mirren's wrist, his gauntlets are off and the touch is soft. If Mirren wasn't so far gone he'd brush his finger over his thumb.  
  
Damn Vilkas and his stupid pride.  
  
"Look at me?"  
  
Mirren glares. "No." He says.  
  
Vilkas just almost smiles, the bastard. He reaches his hands out to cradle Mirren's face, "I'm sorry." He says.  
Mirren doesn't say _It's okay _because it's not, and now he's shaking all over like a terrified child and he grits his teeth to stop them from chattering.  
When he finally looks at Vilkas their eyes meet immediately, Mirren can't stand the ice blue gaze. He turns his head down and shoves his hands away.  
  
He leaves a ring in his hand, it doesn't have much significance. It's just a ring that he had pried off the finger of a bandit, the gold band with a diamond plastered in the center.  
  
He supposes Vilkas will figure out the metaphor eventually. Mirren leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.  
  
The next morning Mirren sails for Solsthiem.  
  
Vilkas doesn't see him for weeks.  
When he does return Mirren is all kinds of hurt again.  
  
But Vilkas won't let him run.  
  
•  
  
When Vilkas dies, Mirren stares at the spot where they buried him in the earth, dread filling his chest. The next week Mirren kneels on the hard ground near his tomb. His dagger is pressed between his ribs, aiming right at his heart. He closes his eyes then, _Gods forgive me._ He thinks, _For this is all I have left to give._  
  
•  
  
When Mirren stumbles into Whiterun with a stab wound and a broken ankle he focuses so hard on staying upright that he practically ignores the pain.  
  
He tumbles into Jorrvaskr, bleeding on the floor and limping to his quarters. Vilkas finds him immediately, having smelled the blood.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" Vilkas demands angrily as he applies pressure on Mirren's wound, directing him to lie down on his bed.  
  
"Bad image for the rest of the Companions- Nobody wants to see their Harbinger out-"  
Mirren is cut off with a noise of pain as Vilkas gingerly tries to pry off his boot, the bleeding must've stopped.  
  
Mirren continues, growling, "You know what they'd say. _Kodlak Whitemane's whore._ That's only how a dark elf could get this position."  
  
"You are a whore, to your empathy," Vilkas hands him a leather strip, "This is going to hurt."  
  
"It already hurts for Oblivion's sake." Mirren groans, but puts the leather strip between his teeth.  
  
Pain engulfes his ankle, and Mirren guesses it must've swelled so much in his boot that Vilkas will have to twist it to get it off. Mirren fights back a scream as it builds in the back of his throat, his teeth leaving noticeable marks in the leather.  
  
When he opens his eyes again Vilkas has propped up his ankle and healed his cut with a poultice.  
  
It's not a pretty fracture. Mirren will be out of the fight longer than he thought. Not even the healers in the temple will be able to fix his ankle that fast.  
  
"Shit." Mirren says, panting hard, taking the leather out of his mouth, "Vilkas I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay.." Vilkas murmurs, even though he knows it's not.  
  
They both know the gravity of the situation. Vilkas hasn't done a single job without Mirren since he had become Harbinger. The two of them fought better as a duo than they did alone. They're Shield-Brothers for a reason.  
  
"Who's gonna protect you Vilkas, who-"  
  
Vilkas smooths a hand over his forehead.  
"It'll be okay."  
  
Mirren slips into worried sleep that night, panic hiding just below the surface of his skin.  
  
•  
  
He returns back from the deep forests of Falkreath's Hold. The first thing Mirren does is talk to the one person he trusts completely.  
  
Vilkas nearly looks the same, yet there are lines etched into his face from weeks of worry.  
  
Mirren smooths back his now long hair, watches Vilkas' eyes trace his movements.  
  
"It's good to see you." Vilkas says, and he sounds so relieved to see that Mirren is back.  
Mirren walks over and clasps his Sheild-Brother on the shoulder. He hasn't smiled in weeks but he tries, for Vilkas' sake.  
"I had to come home at some point."  
  
•  
  
When Vilkas returns with a long cut from abdomen to chest Mirren does not cry.  
He instead takes Vilkas' hand, and stares at the man who is ridden with fever and hysteria.  
  
Mirren waits outside Vilkas' door, patiently awaiting the healers to finish. He's worried about his Shield-Brother, the last person he had lost had been his unborn child, he does not want to lose Vilkas.  
  
When the healers are done Mirren is allowed inside, he immediately pulls up a seat next to Vilkas' bedside, jaw clenched tight as he shakes with anger and his eyes glossy with tears that demand to be shed.  
"I told you, Vilkas." He says, in a voice that's broken.  
  
"What did I tell you?"  
  
•  
  
  
The first time they spar as friends, Mirren knocks Vilkas right off his feet, dagger pressed against his throat.  
He can smell how fast Vilkas' heart is beating.  
A grin as wide as the mountains is on his face.  
  
"Has anyone ever done that to you before?" He asks, getting off of Vilkas and offering his hand.  
  
"No." Vilkas says, and he takes it.  
  
"Just you."  
  
•  
  
"Would you cry for me?"  
  
Mirren is changing Vilkas' bandages, the water is swirling red from his blood. Mirren inclines his head to the side to tell Vilkas silently to say it again.  
"If I died would you cry for me?" Vilkas asks again, his blue eyes burning into Mirren's red ones.  
  
Mirren stares into the red water, he thinks back to when Vilkas came home to him- bleeding and unable to stand without Aela and Farkas to support him.  
"Would you want me to?" It's not really a question, it's more of a statement.  
  
Vilkas smiles slightly, turning his head to look at the wall, away from Mirren. Then, "If I were a selfish man-"  
He doesn't get to finish his sentence, he can hear voices and footsteps coming down the hall, and Mirren finds himself irritated that they had to check up on him now.  
He finishes changing Vilkas' bandages, and opens the door right as Farkas is about to knock.  
  
Vilkas never finishes what he was gonna say.  
  
•  
  
Mirren doesn't remember when he and Aela had become friends. He supposes it started whenever he mentioned his hunting days to her, although some days he isn't sure.  
  
They're having drinks in the mead hall, Vilkas and Farkas are off taking a job together, someplace in the Pale, he thinks.  
  
Mirren can hold his alchohol but he doesn't like to get drunk that often. Hates how his head aches in the morning and how his stomach can't keep anything in. When Aela hands him a wine bottle he doesn't hesitate taking a sip, but just hands it back to her and declines politely when she offers him more.  
  
"Do you have dreams, Harbinger?" She asks him.  
  
Mirren blinks at her, "What sort of dreams?"  
  
"Your goals. Your ultimate hunt." She elaborates.  
  
Mirren shakes his head. His dreams had died alongside his marriage and Alduin.  
"No, if anything I have already completed them. Why are you asking me this, Aela?"  
  
She stops drinking and stares into the fire.  
"Farkas admitted to me that Vilkas thinks of you often. Thinks of you highly."  
  
Mirren remains silent.  
  
"He is like a brother to me." She continues, "I want him to make sure that he will not be crushed. That his dreams won't be destroyed. That his hunt will not be taken away from him."  
  
Mirren stares at her, eyes glistening in the firelight.  
"Are you saying that I am his dream, Aela?"  
  
The huntress doesn't answer.  
  
A week later Mirren fires an arrow right into the side of a boar and watches it drop. He thinks about Aela, and about what he had left behind when he went to Solsthiem.  
  
•  
  
Vilkas' lips taste of glacier water, and the strong bite of horker jerky. His arm envelops Mirren's waist, and an hand which is covered by a gauntlet, reaches up to brush Mirren's cheekbone.  
  
It happens so quickly, so fast, that Mirren hardly has time to process it. He has seen events that people dream to see, and yet this is the most magical thing in his life.  
Marcurio is standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.  
  
Mirren glances back at Vilkas, and sees him brooding into the snow. He reminds Mirren of an anxious wife, awaiting for her husband to return from the war.  
"Serana needs you." Marcurio says, and Mirren nods as he walks for the door.  
  
Behind him Vilkas murmurs something that only Mirren can hear.  
"Stay safe."  
  
•  
Mirren knows if Vilkas had been the Dragonborn he would've slaughtered every dragon he could as soon as possible, all to keep him safe.  
  
"You went to Sovngarde." Vilkas says, angry, furious even. Mirren can see him shaking from head to toe from it.  
  
"I'm alright." Mirren says, but thinks of the World Eater's teeth sinking into his flesh with a phantom pain.  
  
"That is not the problem." Vilkas seethes, closing the distance between them to curl his fingers on the chain that holds Mirren's cloak on his shoulders. Mirren had forgotten how well anger fit on Vilkas' face up close. "The problem is that you lied to me."  
  
Mirren reaches up to grab his wrist, brows drawing down, "I did what had to be done."  
  
"Lying to me," Vilkas growls, "Is what never had to be done."  
  
Mirren opens his mouth, closes it. He can see Vilkas' expression soften just a bit, he understands why Mirren did it but he still doesn't like it. Mirren softens the lines around his mouth, hoping Vilkas will see it.  
  
Mirren is the first to drop his gaze, and Vilkas' hand drops as Mirren pulls him into a gentle embrace. Something terrible feels like it's going to crawl out Mirren's mouth. Vilkas sucks in a breath and it betrays his surprise.  
  
Vilkas had thought Mirren would die.  
  
Mirren has always been harsh with his body language until recently, his words, have mostly been less harsh.  
"I'm sorry." Mirren breathes.  
  
Vilkas just grips his shoulder tighter.  
  
"But understand why I couldn't take you with me, Vilkas."  
  
He draws back, staring at the deep set frown that has made it's way onto his Shield-Brother's face.  
  
"You're too important to me."  
  
Mirren allows his hands to leave their resting spots at the crook of his elbows, and he exits out of the room, leaving Vilkas alone with his thoughts.  
  
•  
  
  
When he and Vilkas first bed together it is after Harkon has been killed.  
  
They lay in Mirren's quarters, the bed is big enough for the both of them. The walls are thick enough to swallow their sounds.  
  
Vilkas twists his digits inside of him. Mirren's face is flushed, his breathing is heavy and his hair is coming loose from its tie.  
  
Later, Mirren is gasping as Vilkas reaches the deepest, most intimate part of him heat coils in his body tightly, a bowstring pulled taut and ready to be let go.  
  
He can smell how fast Vilkas' heart is beating. Mirren can taste it in the back of his throat.  
  
When Mirren comes with a high noise, Vilkas watches like he's made to remember. Later, he whispers just above his breastbone.  
  
"Has anyone ever seen you like this before..?"  
  
Mirren breathes out his answer, "No..." he whispers, "Just you."  
  
•  
  
When Mirren gets back from Solsthiem Vilkas welcomes him with an embrace. Vilkas never initiates touch like this. Sparring; he doesn't count.  
  
The ache in his heart that Mirren has been feeling for weeks is now gone. Replaced by a gentle bloom of warmth.  
  
_Oh,_ he realizes, as he tucks his face into Vilkas' neck.  
  
_This is what returning home feels like._  
  
•  
  
Pressed into the bed, warmth crowding all his senses Vilkas asks him a question that he had long ago once asked before.  
  
Mirren only slides his palm up to Vilkas' cheek, and pulls him in to connect their lips. To him, life is a precious, double-edged sword. It cuts his fingers at times, truly makes him bleed. But like all precious things it is to be cared for.  
  
"Are you okay?" Vilkas asks into his ear, and Mirren tries his best to soak up the warmth from his body.  
  
Mirren clutches his husband close, and kisses the scar that resides at the base of his neck, given by the Silver Hand on that dreadful day.  
  
"Of course, my love." Mirren says, and he means it.  
  
"I am home."  
  
•  
When Vilkas dies Mirren does not cry. He instead carefully touches his sunken face, another hand buried in gray hair, lighter than his skin.  
  
He smooths his hand over a swollen chest, down to frail hands.  
  
The gods had been cruel, for giving Mirren the longer lifespan out of the two of them. He will outlast their children, and their children's children. He will outlast them all.  
  
Mirren doesn't initiate conversation. That's always been Vilkas' job.  
  
He shushes his husband, cradling his lifeless face.  
"It's okay my love..." he murmurs.  
  
  
He thinks of Sovngarde as he looks up at the stars. He thinks of all the warriors Vilkas will be alongside with, all of the friends he will reunite with. Mirren has to wait four hundred years, perhaps even more before he can join him again.  
  
It's not Vilkas' fault.  
  
Mirren presses a final kiss to his cheek.  
"You're going home now. It's alright, you're going home..."

**Author's Note:**

> :')  
Comments are always nice! Constructive criticism always helps and even if I've read this thing like 10 times over I might miss some errors so please point any out to me if you see em. ♡♡


End file.
